


Angelic Intervention

by startabby



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Gen, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29015487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startabby/pseuds/startabby
Summary: What’s in a prayer?That is the question.But when human prayer intersects with a Divinely Inspired Prophecy, well that is when things get interesting… as the Principality Aziraphale is about to find out.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 170
Collections: Every Fandom Reverse Bang 2020, Suggested Good Reads





	1. The Prayer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rivermoon1970](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivermoon1970/gifts).



> Story inspired by art created by rivermoon1970 for the Every Fandom Reverse Bang 2020 Challenge (https://everyfandombangs.wordpress.com/)  
> Thanks to the Mods and everyone who made this challenge possible. It was a lot of fun to participate in it.

> _Our Father,_
> 
> _Who Are In Heaven_
> 
> _Hallowed Be Thy Name._
> 
> _…_
> 
> _Shite. I can’t remember the rest._
> 
> _What am I even doing?_
> 
> _Praying?_
> 
> _I mean, I am a Witch, after all._
> 
> _I haven’t set foot in a church in ages, not since I was a child._
> 
> _But I’m desperate._
> 
> _There’s a monster out there, one who is on the hunt._
> 
> _Seeking to slaughter an innocent child._
> 
> _MY innocent child._
> 
> _And all to prevent some bullshit, half-heard prophecy from coming true._
> 
> _Not that the details of the prophecy really matter._
> 
> _It is just an excuse; a reason to make my little darling a target._
> 
> _James and I have been too much of a thorn in his side in recent years._
> 
> _…_
> 
> _But here I am going off on a rant in the middle of a ‘prayer’._
> 
> _That is what happens when one is faced with an impossible situation._
> 
> _So, despite my lack of experience, I am putting this prayer out to the Universe._
> 
> _Please._
> 
> _I am begging._
> 
> _God._
> 
> _Jesus._
> 
> _Whoever is up there._
> 
> _If you’re listening._
> 
> _I need a miracle._
> 
> _Please._
> 
> _Protect my son._
> 
> _Keep him safe._
> 
> _This I entreat you._
> 
> _…_
> 
> _Amen._

The prayer, regardless of how confused it might be, still fit the criteria set down from the Beginning. As such, once it was complete the disorganized missive immediately began to wing its way Upstairs, bound for the Celestial City.

In that, it was just like any of the millions of others uttered in the same exact moment.

And just like the rest, once it arrived in Heaven the prayer dropped into the hands of a seraph.

One of a massive cadre of lower-ranked members of the Celestial Host who had been given the responsibility of receiving and processing prayers made to the Supreme One.

It was in this manner that the system ran, just as it had for the millennia, almost since the beginning of time.

In that, Heaven was structured like something out of a corporate planner’s wildest dream.

Everyone had a job to do and did exactly what they were told. Not only that, but they did so without even a whisper of complaint.

For every angel knew that to question the Divine was to Fall, a fate that they trembled to even contemplate.[1]

Like the rest of their brethren, the seraph that processed the prayer did so without remark, without considering its contents.

To them, the data contained in the message was irrelevant. All that mattered was their duty.

And duty was ALL.

As a result, it took an instant for the prayer to move from the RECEIVED to PROCESSED.

A moment later, it was bundled with other, similar missives and launched onwards, moving up one rung on the heavenly ladder.

And so, it went, packets of prayers moving from one being to the next, categorized and summarized until all those millions of prayers were compressed into a single mote for the Upper Management of Heaven to file in the appropriate location, ready for the Almighty to read whenever She found the time.

But somehow, unexpectedly, there was something different about the brilliant mote containing the prayer of one Lily Elizabeth Potter. Something about it caught the attention of an Archangel.

The Archangel Gabriel, the Herald of God[2], had an eye for prophecy.

He could sense it.

And somewhere in this mote was a prayer that bore a distinctly familiar sparkle. Somehow, someway, the person or persons referenced in its contents carried on their shoulders the weight of a Divine Prophecy.

With the time rapidly approaching for the Great Plan to be brought to fruition, Gabriel could not risk the possibility that this prophecy might interfere with the Destiny of the World.

And so, he was determined.

_Something must be done to resolve the prophecy sooner rather than later._

_Someone must investigate the child involved in the divination, this…_

Gabriel glanced down at the record which had caught his eye,

_…this Harry Potter._

* * *

[1] For that was the fate reserved for the demons of Hell, their brothers turned Adversaries. And no one wanted to be like THEM.

[2] All because God had him make certain announcements to the mud monkeys, a task that Gabriel was not at all fond of doing. Still, it did give him a title that he could hold over the rest of the Host, especially Michael. Gabriel lived for those moments when he could claim precedence over the other archangel.


	2. A Mission from Upstairs

> “… Mary Elizabeth’s bosom quivered as she was caught in the grips of an indescribable emotion. It was like nothing else that she had ever felt. Her heart fluttered in her chest, even as Richard offered her a luminescent smile.”

The tinkling of a little bell, the indicator of the front door being opened, interrupted Aziraphale from where he sat reading behind the sales counter of his bookshop.

The Earth-bound[1] angel glanced up, a frown wrinkling his face at the interruption. But then, a moment later, the frown disappeared as recognition flashed across his eyes.

“Crowley,” he said with a polite smile. “What brings you down here? I didn’t think that we had anything scheduled for today.”

“Oh, don’t worry; you didn’t forget anything, Angel. This is a spur-of-the-moment visit. I just happened to be in the area.”

Aziraphale’s visitor on this pleasant London morning, the Demon known as Crowley, pushed his colored glasses down just far enough to flash his serpentine eyes, a smug grin plastered across his narrow face.

All that the angel could do was to sigh resignedly, his normal response to the other’s mischief.

“And, I suppose, you’ve come to brag about your latest bout of devilry, have you?” He asked. “You know you don’t have to tell me all about your exploits, right? That wasn’t part of the Arrangement.”

“But it’s so much fun, watching you show your disapproval,” Crowley replied. “You sputter so perfectly.”

Aziraphale huffed but didn’t bother to protest Crowley’s words. It wasn’t like it would make a solitary lick of difference in the demon’s behavior, after all.

“So what do you say, angel? Care for a spot of lunch?”

Instead of meeting Crowley’s twinkling eyes, Aziraphale directed his eyes down towards the book that he had been reading, which he still held in his hands. The habitual action was all he could do to hide the flush of pleasure that he knew had flashed across his face at the other’s invitation. Aziraphale knew that he shouldn’t be happy to spend time with one of the Adversary’s minions, but when it came to Crowley, he just couldn’t help himself.

To further disguise his involuntary response, Aziraphale let out another sigh, before commenting, “Fine, then. I suppose a bite would be nice.”

“Let me just put this away,” he added, even as he slid a small slip of paper between the pages to mark his place.[2]

“What are you reading there, anyways, Angel?” Crowley asked as he stepped up to the counter and peered over its wooden top.

“Oh. It’s nothing,” Aziraphale said. He tucked the book away under the shop counter, there to join countless others hidden away in its depths. Against his will, his flush increased, heating his cheeks, and turning them a pale pink. “It’s just something that I picked up recently.”

He did not want the demon to catch a glimpse of his reading material, especially not the front cover, with its depiction of a dashing, shirtless, and heavily-muscled hero holding a swooning maiden in a filmy dress.

Crowley would tease him endlessly if he knew about Aziraphale’s fondness for romance novels[3].

“I see,” Crowley said, a bit of suspiciousness present in his tone.

Clearly, he recognized that Aziraphale wasn’t being completely honest.

_Oh dear._

Fortunately for the angel, on this day his companion was impatient for them to be on their way.

It was the only reason that he held off the temptation to investigate the angel’s choice of reading material any further. Instead, he simply let Aziraphale’s lie pass without any additional comments as he smirked in the angel’s direction.

“Come on then, angel,” he said.

“You move too fast for me, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied. Letting out another sigh, this time one of relief, he nudged the novel further below the counter, and thus definitely out of view from all but the most thorough of investigations.

Once that was done the angel came out from behind the counter where he had been sitting, perched on a stool. After collecting his coat and scarf from a nearby hook, he followed Crowley, who had by now reached the front door and stood there, holding it open for his companion.

Aziraphale stepped out just far enough to clear the stoop before moving aside to let the demon pass him. Reaching out, he pulled the door firmly closed, jiggling the knob to make sure that it engaged with the frame. By a Miraculous coincidence, the movement also served to engage the door’s lock.

Even though the shop was nominally a place of business, Aziraphale did not bother to change the sign over to CLOSED as he left. It wasn’t like the bookshop kept regular hours or ever sold anything, not if the angel had anything to say about it.[4]

“Sushi?” Crowley asked as they strode past the antique Black Bentley parked on the curb.

“Sushi,” Aziraphale agreed easily. He was fond of that Human delicacy. Almost as good as crepes, it was, and easier to find nearby.

Later that afternoon, Aziraphale took advantage of the lovely fall weather to head down to the nearby flower market for a bit of a browse. There was just something about being surrounded by all the fresh blooms, the glory of Her creation captured for perusal.

He had just picked up a bunch of tiger lilies on display, their brilliant orange and yellow colors a perfect nod to the season, when a familiar feeling crept up his spine.

Turning around, he was unsurprised to find the Archangel Gabriel standing there, an obviously artificial smile plastered across his face. The purple tie he wore stood out against his otherwise white attire, though it was clearly matched to his corporation’s startling violet eyes. He was alone, Aziraphale was relieved to see, without Sandalphon or one of the others trailing along behind him.

Good. It was enough of a trial having to converse with the smug archangel when he was alone; having others around hanging on his every word would have made it so much worse.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale said flatly, hiding his distaste for the other behind his own polite smile.

“Hello Aziraphale,” the other replied, still maintaining his obnoxiously artificial grin. “It is good to see you. Is that a new waistcoat?”

Startled by the friendly comment, Aziraphale couldn’t help but glance down.

As it so happened, he was wearing one of his favorite outfits on that afternoon.

A suit in a pale shade just off white, with a waistcoat and matching bow tie made from a lovely tartan of autumnal colors, its pattern composed of muted shades of brown, red, and yellow.

“Thank you?” he replied.

There was no reason not to be polite, even if he was confused by Gabriel’s thoughtful remark.

“It is in honor of the season.”

“Ah yes, it is what these humans call Fall[5], is it not? A strange notion that is, using the same word that describes what happened to the Adversary and his followers after the War to describe a time of the year.”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale agreed. “But it does make sense. There are leaves falling off their trees, not to mention all of the other changes that come as the temperature cools.”

_There was something distinctly odd,_ Aziraphale couldn’t help but think, _about sharing pleasantries with the archangel. It wasn’t like he was one of the other’s stooges, hanging off the man’s every word._

Still, he was careful not to let any hint of his ‘rebellious’ thoughts show.

“That is true,” Gabriel agreed, thoughtfully, “even now, Her creation shows the consequences of deviating from the Great Plan.”

_Ugh. The ‘Great’ Plan. Don’t remind me,_ Aziraphale thought, suppressing a depressed sigh.

Unlike the other angel, he wasn’t fond of the idea of a final battle between Heaven and Hell, though he was resigned to its approach.

_Is it that time already?_ He wondered, that feeling of hopeless depression hitting him for a moment at the thought.

“And speaking of the Great Plan,” Gabriel continued, blithely unaware of the tone of Aziraphale’s thoughts, “I have a mission for you, Principality Aziraphale.”

“You do? I mean, is it time, then?”

Gabriel’s smile widened. “Not quite yet, my dear brother Aziraphale, but the time is fast approaching. No, it is another matter that has been brought to my attention.”

“Oh?”

“There is…” here Gabriel paused, clearly for emphasis, “… a prophecy child, a human, one whose destiny has the potential to disrupt the Great Plan.”

_Disrupt? What exactly was Gabriel worried about?_

Before Aziraphale could say anything, Gabriel continued.

“The child’s mother has offered up a prayer, which gives us a unique opportunity. Aziraphale, I want you to go and perform a Miracle. We don’t want the fulfillment of the boy’s prophesied destiny to get in the way of the Great Plan, now do we?”

Though he was still confused, Aziraphale knew to shake his head, the movement signaling his agreement with the other’s comment.

_Exactly what kind of Miracle was Gabriel asking him to do?_

Fortunately, when he asked just that, Gabriel’s response was relatively agreeable to the other’s sensibilities.

It seemed that the child, one Harry Potter, was prophesized to defeat a powerful Dark Lord.

As such, Gabriel wanted Aziraphale to provide a bit of Miraculous protection, to… help the process along, as it were. Apparently, there was something about the human conflict that could disrupt the Antichrist’s arrival, and that was something that Gabriel refused to abide.

Though Aziraphale had emerged from his encounter with Gabriel relatively unscathed, any time spent with the archangel tended to be a mentally and physically exhausting experience. So, instead of heading off to the countryside to carry out his orders directly, Aziraphale made his way to the nearest café.

A pot of tea and a scone was exactly what he needed to ease his nerves.

In the end, it took several hours, and multiple pots of tea, before Aziraphale finally felt well enough to head out from Central London.

His destination: the rural hamlet of Godric’s Hollow, located deep in the West Country of Southern England.

As was his preference, Aziraphale chose to eschew Miraculous transport. Instead, he opted to take an ordinary train ride through the country. 

A handful of his fellow passengers were dressed in what even Aziraphale could tell were costumes of some kind, no doubt a nod to the day’s festivities, but most appeared to be ordinary citizens, making their way from one point to another.

_Humanity at its finest,_ Aziraphale thought with a private smile, watching a mother with two young children, engrossed in reading what looked like a favorite story. _These little, ordinary moments truly capture the goodness possible here on Earth._

Dusk had fallen as Aziraphale stepped off his final train of the day, reaching the quaint little hamlet of Godric’s Hollow.

The place had a timeless quality about it; as if it had emerged from deep within the depths of Aziraphale’s memories. Between the streets with their narrow, winding, and stone-cobbled routes, the simple framed wooden structures of the buildings, and the absence of traffic as he made his way out of the station and into the town beyond, it was as pretty as a picture.

As he stepped off the curb, a light breeze rustled past his cheek, carrying with it the smell of fallen leaves and autumnal spices.

Aziraphale strolled through the quaint streets of the town center, following the trace which Gabriel had generously provided along with his mission assignment. The metaphysical signature of one Lily Evans Potter; carefully gleaned from the prayer that had brought her and her child to the archangel’s attention.

That signature peaked as Aziraphale approached his destination, following one of the lanes that ambled off away from the village center.

As he did so, just for a moment, his mind became confused. From what his eyes could see, the trace that he followed had led him to an empty lot.

But then, his angelic senses managed to push past the perception filter which had been placed over the site, the Magic, to find the cottage that had been hidden from view.

Once Aziraphale did so, he couldn’t help but gasp. Setting aside the Magic that hid it, there was something else different and wrong about this house.

Unlike the other dwellings in the village, the hidden home lacked that sense of cheery and welcoming warmth beaming out through its front windows. Instead, an open door swung slowly on its hinges, giving him a partial view of a front room, one which had clearly been the site of a fight. Even in the dim light, Aziraphale could see bits of broken furniture and plaster, thrown about and scattered everywhere.

But he had a mission to do.

Squaring his shoulders, he walked through the broken garden gate, which gaped open as if it had been smashed through by a single massive blow, and up the path into the darkened house.

Once he made it inside, the first thing that caught Aziraphale’s eye was the presence of a body, slumped against one of the walls. It was a man, casually dressed, with a broken piece of wood – a wand, Aziraphale realized – lying beside his outstretched hand. The glasses covering his eyes reflected a bit of light coming from the outside as the angel moved in his direction.

Even before Aziraphale reached the man’s side, he knew that the other was no longer alive. For better or worse, he was beyond saving, even for an angel.

A moment later, the sound of voices drew Aziraphale’s attention away from the dead man. They were coming from above, from the upper story of the little cottage.

Stepping gingerly over a chunk of shattered stair rail, Aziraphale warily made his way to the carpeted stairs which led to the cottage’s upper floor. He was careful to avoid making any noise as he followed the sounds of the voices that he could hear somewhere up the stairs.

“Foolish girl,” a man’s voice said, with a harsh menace audible in his words. “You know that you have no chance against me, not on your own, as your husband down there has already learned.”

“I don’t care!”

The second speaker was a woman, her voice tight with desperation.

“I won’t let you bring harm to my baby!”

Having reached the upper landing, Aziraphale had managed to catch sight of a figure in a dark cloak, standing in front of an open door before it spoke again.

“As you will, then,” the man said, this time speaking almost without emotion.

“Avada. Kedavra.”

As the figure spoke, Aziraphale noticed a hint of movement from within the depths of the cloak. _He must be making s_ _ome kind of wand movement,_ the angel thought. _But what do those words mean?_

When the words finished, there was a flash of bright green light and a scream, followed by the heavy thump of a falling body. The trace that he’d been following disappeared, even as Aziraphale winced.

It seemed that the spell meant death. Not only that, but the woman who’d been protesting, who had just been killed, was, in fact, one Lily Evans Potter.

_Oh, for Heaven’s sake._ Aziraphale thought, a tad hysterically. It seemed that he had arrived just a bit too late.

But then, unexpectedly, he heard something.

A weak cry.

“Momma!”

It was a toddler, likely the very child that Gabriel had tasked Aziraphale to protect.

_Well then._

Perhaps his mission was not completely ruined.

Looking past the dark form still standing in the doorway, who had pulled a jewel-encrusted dagger out of his robes and was muttering something over it, Aziraphale sent a Miracle out to cover the child inside in a protective shield.

It turned out that Aziraphale’s action came just in time, as the still cloaked figure had finished whatever it was that he was doing. Once again, the wand pointed, and again those same two words were uttered.

“Avada. Kedavra.”

As on the previous occasion, a green flash immediately followed the pronouncement of the spell and for a moment Aziraphale worried that his Miracle wasn’t going to be enough to protect the child. But then, there was a chime, and the green beam was reflected backward, its gleam much brighter than it had been before impacting the Miraculous shield.

It hit the robed figure with enough power to instantly vaporize the body, but it didn’t stop there.

Aziraphale had just enough time to say, “oh dear,” before the reflected light of the Killing Curse slammed into his corporation.

* * *

[1] He was only there on assignment, of course. Aziraphale could, and occasionally did, return to the Heavenly City. Still, after millennia spent on Earth, the location had grown on the Principality.

[2] Of course, as a Celestial Being, Aziraphale had a perfect recall and didn’t need the reminder. Still, there was something nice about having a tangible indicator of one’s place in the story.

[3] Love was one of the greatest things that Humanity had developed. Not the messy bit, physical intercourse was a bit icky for Aziraphale to consider. But romance, those grand gestures that humans used to show that they cared for each other. That was bliss. 

[4] Really though, the bookshop was more like Aziraphale’s personal library. He was merely considerate enough to allow others to enjoy its contents.

[5] Of course, the word wasn’t the same, not in the Celestial tongue of Enochian anyway. It was simply a quirk of the English language, one which Aziraphale had found quite interesting.


	3. Celestial Accounting

_The first moments after a discorporation were always a bit odd_ , Aziraphale thought, even as his being transitioned over from the mortal plane.

The source of the oddness was the change in perspective that came from losing one’s gross matter and, just for a brief instant, becoming one with the entirety of Her creation. It was a truly transcendent experience…

_Of course, what came after that was far less pleasant,_ Aziraphale thought again, this time just as he landed at the gates of the Celestial City with an abrupt jolt.

Any experience which directly followed communion with the impossible majesty of God’s creation would naturally feel like a step-down, but it was more than that. For Aziraphale knew exactly what awaited him once he stepped through the golden gates and back into the Heavenly Realm that was his original home.

He didn’t know when it happened, but at some point, the unending expanses of brilliant white that made up the bounds of Heaven had become a distasteful sight. In contrast to the multi-faceted wonders of the World Below, the oppressive sameness appeared one-dimensional.

But it wasn’t really Heaven itself that Aziraphale had grown to dislike. No, that honor went to those who dwelt within its gates. The bureaucracy that the Heavenly Host had built up over millennia had stolen away from the Joy which had once flowed, back before the Great Fall, when She still walked amongst them.

_And today’s visit was just one example,_ Aziraphale thought as he made his way through the endless expanse until he reached the ‘Office of Asset Management’.

Early in the days after Creation, Heaven had decided that the corporations which their Earth-bound agents must don to interact directly with humanity were to be considered as Company Assets. Assets that must be logged and tracked, with any changes to their status to be accounted for in triplicate.

When he finally reached the boring beige desk, manned by a seraph in a similarly bland corporation, that was the entry point to the office, Aziraphale intuitively knew what he had to do. Gathering the full expanse of his non-corporeal being, he poured himself into the simplistic corporation that stood there ready for agents in his situation to utilize.

Then, once he had settled in far enough to be able to perform basic movements, he collected a massive stack of papers from the waiting seraph and headed to the nearest empty cubicle.

_At least this time the reason for the loss is easy to fill out,_ Aziraphale thought absently as he picked up a pen and wrote down the following on the first page:

**_CORPORATION DESTROYED AS A CONSEQUENCE OF ACTIONS TAKEN TO COMPLETE MISSION SEVENTY-FOUR BILLION, TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-EIGHT MILLION, NINE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-ONE THOUSAND, AND SEVEN HUNDRED AND TWO. INCIDENT OCCURRED AT PRECISELY SEVEN O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING GREENWICH MEAN TIME, THIRTY-FIRST OCTOBER IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD NINETEEN EIGHTY-ONE, AS MEASURED IN THE GREGORIAN CALENDAR[1]._ **

_Nice and simple,_ Aziraphale nodded, pleased, _no need to worry about The Arrangement or keeping a certain person out of the narrative. Not like the last time. **[2]** _

That wasn’t to say that Aziraphale ever lied on any of his reports. That would be a sin, and thus against Her will. No, all he did was to merely… leave things out.

But in this case, it was not necessary. He had been on an official mission assigned by the Archangel Gabriel himself and thus his corporation’s destruction had a reason that even the most finicky of auditors would have to accept.

Instead, Aziraphale was able to work his way quickly and efficiently through the entire massive stack. Upon reaching the final page, he checked the last few boxes, signed his name in a flourish, and rose from the cubicle where he sat.

Picking up the completed forms, he carefully set the entire stack on the desk of the monitoring seraph.

“Are you certain that every form has been completed correctly?” they asked, as they flipped through the stack with quick hands.

“I am,” Aziraphale replied, “everything was done correctly and with every detail complete and in accordance with Heavenly protocol.”

"I see," the seraph said, eyeing him with a skeptical look.

Aziraphale suppressed his desire to protest. As a Principality, he knew that he far outranked an ordinary seraph, especially one who was manning an entry-level desk. But, given that this being was standing between him and the restoration of his preferred form, he couldn’t afford to offend the other.

“Wait here, please.”

Getting up from their desk, the seraph picked up the massive file that Aziraphale had just completed without any signs of effort. Then, without another word, they flashed off, leaving Aziraphale to stand and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Around him streamed the endless expanse of white, with nothing to distract one’s gaze from its infinity. Through this temporary corporation’s weak ears, the only thing that could be heard were the songs of the Host, repetitive and unvarying praises of their Maker.

While such communion with the Host had been sublime in the beginning, after untold millennia it had grown routine and uninspired.

Aziraphale found that he quite preferred the wild variation that humanity had managed over the Host’s repetitions. The works of George Frideric Handel had managed to capture Her praises quite gloriously, to name one such example. For the Hallelujah Chorus was a majestic inspiration, especially when performed by a full orchestra and choir.

But no, the Host limited themselves to the same basic chants that She had introduced during the Creation. It was enough to drive one to extremes.

Aziraphale had no idea how those angels who were assigned to work exclusively within the expanse of the Heavenly City managed to sustain their motivation. He could never manage such a thing. Eternal life without the little pleasures found on Earth would be, to put it simply, unbearable. Yet, the resolution of the Great Plan was nigh, at which point, regardless of who won, all would be lost. It was a horrible thought.

By the time that the desk seraph finally returned, Aziraphale was nearly dancing with impatience to return to the comfort of his Earthly existence.

“Principality Aziraphale,” despite the lyrical timbre inherent in their speech, the being’s lack of affect rendered their words worse than a monotone. “Your report on the loss of your most recent corporation has been accepted by Heaven. As such, approval for a replacement has also been granted. What form do you require?”

“Um, well,” Aziraphale hedged for a moment, “I’d like to get a match to my previous corporation if you please?”

Showing their first real hint of emotion, the seraph allowed a moue of distaste to cross their face.

“Are you certain?” They asked. “That corporation does not match with the present expectation which humanity has established for Heavenly creatures. Would you not prefer something a bit more… elegant?”

_They mean thin,_ Aziraphale thought, disgusted by the implication. His corporation was his own business, not one that should be defined by trends and other fickle interpretations of reality.

“No, no,” he assured them, “I need the same form. Helps with maintaining connections to my Human associates, you see?”

_Besides, I do prefer a bit more padding on my form,_ he added to himself, m _akes it easier to appreciate good food without looking odd while doing so._

What he failed to admit, even to himself, was that both reasons were excuses. The truth was that Aziraphale had become… attached… to his corporation’s physical appearance. It had become as much a part of his identity as his Heavenly form, what with the eyes, the hair, and even the portly frame.

In response, the desk seraph simply sighed.

“Oh, very well,” they said. With a snap of their fingers, they made the familiar form of Aziraphale’s chosen corporation to appear before the desk.

Practically evanescent in pleasure, Aziraphale immediately dropped the temporary body back into its designated seat. Then he drew that welcome and far preferred form to himself, tucking the extent of his Heavenly presence away within its familiar embrace.

As his corporation and presence merged to become one, Aziraphale let out a nearly inaudible sigh.

At that moment, he felt whole.

After offering the seraph a polite expression of appreciation, one which the other shrugged off easily, he turned away from them and began to stride off. He was headed to the Celestial Gates, and from there back down to Earth. But before he could reach them, he was stopped by none other than his least favorite angel, Gabriel’s unctuous lackey, the seraph known as Sandalphon.

_Ugh._

“Principality Aziraphale,” Sandalphon said, offering him a sickly grin, “the Archangel Gabriel has need of you.”

From the pained grin on the bully’s face, Aziraphale had no doubt that he would rather be threatening him instead of extending an invitation. Today, however, it appeared that he had his marching orders from Gabriel, and was obligated to behave accordingly.

“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed aloud, though inside all that he could think was, _what now?_

He followed the other angel through the blazing white expanse until they reached the area designated as Gabriel’s official office.

“Principality Aziraphale!” the archangel exclaimed when he saw him, a massive grin plastered across his face. He rose from the massive and ostentatious desk, one whose surface was a gleaming white that reflected the light around it.

Stepping over to the principality, he clasped his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“I was just reading through your report. Good work, good work indeed, that.”

“Sir?”

“Popping up a Miracle that not only protected the child but also fulfilled the prophecy, or part of it anyways. Pesky little things, human seers, managing to tap into Her ineffability as they do.”

“I see…?” Aziraphale said, a bit confused by Gabriel’s comments.

He hadn’t realized that he’d managed such a feat, not that he was going to admit that to the other angel.

“Yes. It seemed that the child was destined to defeat that ‘Dark Lord’, and your little Miracle took care of things early.”

_Huh. Well, that was a stroke of luck,_ Aziraphale supposed.

“As long as the Mud Monkeys aren’t stupid enough to try and revive him, things should be good,” Gabriel continued.

_Wait... revive? That seemed unlikely. But then they were talking about…_

“If I ever find out who let some of the Nephilim survive the Flood, I will…” Gabriel’s hands moved in a twisting motion as if wringing an invisible neck.

It took considerable effort for Aziraphale to suppress a shudder. He knew[3] who had done it, not that he’d ever let on to anyone, especially the archangel.

“But just in case that does happen,” Gabriel continued, “I want you to keep an eye on the child. Make sure that the boy’s prophecy remains fulfilled. It cannot be allowed to interfere with the Great Plan. I will not tolerate it.”

“As you say,” Aziraphale said, more in acknowledgment of Gabriel’s orders than in agreement.

The Great Plan was not his favorite thing to consider, not with what it would mean for the Earth. But that was neither here nor there at present.

Recognizing that the archangel was finished with him, he offered his superior a polite bow before turning and walking away.

Behind him, Aziraphale could already hear Gabriel and Sandalphon discussing the latest evolution of the Great Plan, speaking of their expected victory in cheery tones.

“… massive blasts of Holy Fire…”

“… destruction and screaming everywhere…”

Aziraphale picked up his steps. The less that he had to listen to the better.

Before long, the others’ words faded away, overtaken by the praises of the Host that hummed throughout the Heavenly City.

For once, Aziraphale was pleased by the sound. It flowed about him, providing a comfortable ambiance as he made his way back to the Heavenly Gates.

* * *

[1] Precision and detail are a requirement of all Heavenly paperwork, as Aziraphale knew well. He didn’t want to ever repeat the disaster that was the infamous Pompeii incident when a single missed period made him unable to perform a Miracle as he had planned. Uriel had filled in for him on that occasion and made a mess of the whole affair. A bit too fond of fire and brimstone, that one; just look at Sodom and Gomorrah.

[2] Getting killed during a mugging gone wrong had been a bit embarrassing to explain, especially when his reason for not managing a Miraculous escape had been because he had felt sorry for the mugger. It didn’t help that he did not have a mission nearby to explain his presence in the area, given that he had been filling in for Crowley at the time. 

[3] Or at least he was fairly certain. Crowley had never come right out and said anything, but Aziraphale had seen his face when the rain started falling. Besides, who else would dare go against Her will other than a demon. 


	4. Petunia

Once he reached the Heavenly Gates and stepped outside, Aziraphale took a moment to settle his newly re-built corporation further. Then, he departed the brightness of Heaven to return down to the Earth.

Given Gabriel’s comments earlier, he decided that he ought to check on the child who he had protected with a Miracle before returning to his life in London.

Fortunately, despite the shock of his discorporation Aziraphale had managed to hold onto the metaphysical trace which Gabriel had provided when he had assigned the mission; a trace which had been re-directed to the child after his mother had been killed.

With that trace in hand, it was easy for the angel to adjust his point of emergence back onto the mortal plane. Instead of returning to where he had been previously, he emerged out into a location close to the child’s new dwelling place.

Given the amount of destruction that he’d witnessed and the death of the boy’s parents, the fact that his new location was nowhere near the little village of Godric’s Hollow was hardly a surprise. Instead of the depths of the West Country, Aziraphale found himself stepping down from the Heavenly Realm and out onto the staid streets of Little Whinging, Surrey.

The true nature of his arrival in that haven of normality was, of course, hidden. Instead, he appeared to have just come from around the corner, though if asked no one who saw him emerge would be able to say exactly which corner.

Another step and his clothing transformed from the bland white robe and sandals which was Heaven’s default to the far more stylish pale suit and tartan waistcoat that was Aziraphale’s normal mode of dress.[1]

By the time that he reached the door to Number Four Privet Drive, he looked like an ordinary, if perhaps a touch eccentric, British gentleman.

Reaching out, he knocked sharply with the brass knocker.

From behind the door, he could hear a screaming toddler, yelling for “Mummy”.

_Apparently, little Harry Potter wasn’t the only child currently in residence at this home,_ Aziraphale thought as he waited patiently for the door to open.

Sure enough, when his knock was finally answered, the person who greeted him was a flustered housewife with a massive toddler perched on her left hip.

The contrast between the woman’s slim frame and her son’s disturbingly plump physique was striking, as was the frown that dominated her face.

“What?” she asked, a bit abruptly.

“Pardon me, Madam,” Aziraphale replied, “but I was hoping for a minute of your time.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You aren’t selling anything, are you? We don’t stand for such things around here.”

“Not at all, Madam. I simply needed to speak to the residents of this house about a certain private matter. It is a matter of inheritance.”

Her eyes narrowed further, and she practically dragged him inside.

“One of them, are you?” she hissed, “a freak?”

“Mummy,” the child interrupted. “Want…”

His hands were reaching towards a candy bowl, one which sat high on a cabinet in the hall, out of his normal range of access.

“Alright, Diddyums, just give Mummy a minute,” she replied.

Then she turned back to Aziraphale.

“Go on through to the parlor,” she said. The contrast between the syrupy sweet tone that she had used to speak to her son and the icy fury he received was striking, “and don’t do anything Freakish. I will be there once I finish taking care of my son.”

Without a word, she spun around. After collecting a couple of large bonbons from the indicated dish, she then headed up the nearby staircase that led to the upstairs portion of her house. Clearly, she didn’t want her son anywhere nearby while she spoke to the stranger.

Well, it was of no matter to Aziraphale whether the boy was present. So, following his host’s instructions, he walked through the doorway that stood just opposite the base of the stairs and into the home’s front room.

_But what did the woman mean by ‘freakish’?_ He wondered as he claimed a seat on a chintzy floral sofa that sat against one wall.

_And,_ he wondered as he glanced around the room and saw a smattering of holiday decorations, _how long had it been since that night?_

A second, longer glance took in the calendar hanging on the wall with the days marked off. If that was correct, and Aziraphale was certain that it was, it seemed that had been over a month since his latest discorporation.

No wonder his stint at the ‘Office of Asset Management’ had felt endless. 

“Took your lot long enough to get here,” the severe housewife commented as she stepped into the room, clearly having finished getting her child settled upstairs. “I was expecting you to show up weeks ago.”

Her floral dress did nothing to hide the fact that she was unhealthily slim, practically skin and bones. Between that and her severe look, at that moment she looked more like a caricature of a scarecrow than a human being.

“I am afraid, Madam, that there may be some misunderstanding here. Are you, in fact, the current guardian of the child Harry Potter?”

She sniffed.

“I am,” she admitted, a tad reluctantly, “Mrs. Petunia Dursley, the boy’s aunt.”

Aziraphale sighed in relief. It seemed that he had come to the right place.

“Well, then, you see, I am merely here as a courtesy, to ascertain the child’s well-being following the events which occurred on the 31st of October, 1981.”

Mrs. Dursley practically snarled.

“Well… well-being?!?” she shrieked. “Are you saying that old coot didn’t even bother to have the brat checked out!”

Stomping out of the room, she disappeared from his view.

To Aziraphale’s surprise, her footsteps didn’t turn to head up to the second floor.

Instead, she turned left, not right, heading towards the rear of the house. A moment later, and a creak indicated that the woman had opened the door to the cupboard in the hallway, the one that was tucked underneath the neighboring stairwell.

“Here,” she said as she stepped back into the room, “you ‘take a look’ at him. Confirm his well-being if you are so insistent…”

Reaching out, she shoved the bundle that she held into Aziraphale’s arms.

To the angel’s surprise, what he had assumed was merely a dirty bundle of rags instead were the wrappings that surrounded a small child.

The boy’s black hair stuck up in all directions from where it poked out of the musty cloth and a large, jagged scar stretched across one side of his forehead.

_It looked rather nasty, that scar; red and puffy and, in all likelihood,_ Aziraphale thought, _infected with bacteria._

Outside of the scar, the boy’s visible features carried on them a feverish flush. Tear tracks covered his cheeks, but unlike his cousin, the smaller toddler made almost no sound.

“What happened?” Aziraphale asked, appalled by the mere sight of the child.

_Well, that wouldn’t do! Not at all!_

Reaching out with a bit of his Grace, he confirmed that the tiny body was indeed riddled with a nasty infection.

Without another word, the angel conjured up a bit of Miraculous healing, boosting the little one’s immune system in a desperate attempt to bring down his raging fever. 

“What. Happened!?!” The woman repeated, outrage visible in her shaking form. “I’ll tell you what happened. That boy was dumped on our doorstep without so much as a by your leave. No paperwork, no money, just that damnable note.”

She huffed and then added.

“He’s been nothing but trouble ever since. Crying at all hours of the day and night, refusing to obey; he’s an utter brat!”

“And the cut on his forehead?” Aziraphale asked, running his hand lightly across the heated surface, “what happened there?”

“He showed up like that. Must have happened during the attack that killed his parents,” she explained begrudgingly. “And we couldn’t exactly take him to the doctors. Not without the proper paperwork at any rate.”

She glared, and then added, “and I assume that you haven’t brought any of it, either. None of your lot seems to know anything about the real world.”

It was with these words that the coin finally dropped and Aziraphale realized what the woman had assumed. She thought that he was one of the descendants of the Nephilim, a Wizard, if he remembered the term correctly, perhaps even one involved in their governmental organization.

“Oh,” he said. “I am afraid, Madam, that you may be operating under an incorrect assumption. I am not in any kind of position of authority here; I am merely a concerned citizen.”

“You’re what!?” she shrieked, even more furious, “then what gives you the right…”

Her voice trailed off.

“That lying bastard,” she murmured under her breath, forcing Aziraphale to strain to hear, “he promised me that no one would bother us; not unless we specifically asked. There are supposed to be protections…” Her voice dwindled away to nothing for a moment, before her back stiffened as if she had reached a decision.

“Well then,” she said with a firm nod. “If you are so determined to know how the boy is doing; then you can take responsibility for him.”

Collecting a heavy parchment note from a drawer in the curio cabinet that stood against the neighboring wall, she shoved it into his chest.

Then, without further ado, the woman proceeded to push both Aziraphale and the boy that he carried from the parlor, through the hallway, and out the front door of her home.

“And don’t come back,” she added with a sneer before stepping back and slamming the door shut with a final sharp _THUD_.

Feeling a tad overwhelmed, Aziraphale glanced down at the bundle of boy and blankets that he held in his arms.

“Right,” he said. He was still trying to figure out exactly what had just happened. “I suppose that is that.”

Not knowing what else to do, he followed the woman’s orders by turning and heading down the short walk and from there along the street away from Number Four.

* * *

[1] The suit appeared to be an exact match to the one that he had been wearing when the incident with the Killing Curse had occurred. It was a truly grievous loss, in Aziraphale’s considered opinion. While he could Miracle up something that matched on the surface, it just wasn’t the same as the one which had been so tragically destroyed.


	5. Home Again

The journey from Privet Drive in Little Whinging to the bookshop back in SoHo passed in a blur.

Instead, almost all Aziraphale’s attention had turned inward.

Despite having lived on Earth for several millennia, it was the first time that the angel had found himself in this precise predicament.

Sure, there had been occasions where he had temporarily taken care of a young human; indeed, Guardian Angel was one of his favorite roles. However, that job tended to be relatively 'hands-off'. In all those cases, Aziraphale had only needed to directly interact with his charge for a handful of brief but intense moments. Not only that, but children who he guarded generally came with caretakers, or if not were of an age to be able to care for themselves, or mostly anyway.

This time, however, the child’s assigned caretaker had not only objected to Aziraphale’s presence but had gone so far as to reject her charge entirely. Which, given the fact that the child was little more than an infant, was a considerable source of alarm. Then there was the fact that this wasn’t just any human child.

No, little Harry Potter was a child of prophecy, one who had already gained Heaven’s attention.

_Well, at least I have an excuse to keep Gabriel out of my business for a while,_ Aziraphale thought, a tad hysterically. _Not with the fact that his mission was the thing that landed me in this predicament in the first place._

Much to Aziraphale’s carefully hidden relief, little Harry had fallen into an exhausted slumber shortly after their abrupt removal from his Aunt and Uncle’s home.

Thanks to certain Miraculous acts, the agony which had previously kept him awake had faded and he was clean and warm and without pain for probably the first time since the attack.

Besides, Aziraphale knew that because his corporation was freshly generated it still carried a bit of Heaven’s Peace embedded into every sub-atomic particle which made up its substance. That Peace would fade over the months and years ahead, but right now it was practically oozing out of him.

Come to think of it, the Peace presently emanating from Aziraphale’s very pores made Petunia Dursley’s actions earlier that afternoon even more astonishing. She should have been calmed by his presence, but instead, she had worked herself into a fine frenzy.

At any rate, the fact of the matter was not only had Harry fallen asleep quite quickly, but he had remained in that state for the entirety of their journey to London.

The jolts of the trains, the noise of the crowds, even the light rain which had begun to fall; none of it made a difference. The child was deep in slumber.

By the time that Aziraphale climbed out of the taxicab in front of the bookshop, the rain was descending in earnest, coating the world in mist.

_The aura of mystery that such weather manages to create feels oddly appropriate,_ the angel thought as he turned back toward the open cab door, _especially when combined with the twilight hour._

Once he had paid the driver, Aziraphale collected his burden, the still sleeping child swaddled in layers of blankets, from the seat. Then, after tucking a bit of fabric over the boy’s head to protect him from the falling water, he stepped away from the curb.

Even peering through the mist and shadows of the approaching night, the sight before him gave Aziraphale a warm thrill.

It was good to be home.

Of course, It wasn’t until he reached the stoop that he realized that there might be a bit of an issue.

“Oh, heavens,” Aziraphale said as he patted his pocket pointlessly. He had forgotten that the change of corporation meant that his bookshop key would no longer rest within its depths. Fortunately, he was an angel and thus not limited to mortal means.[1]

Shifting the bundle in his arms, he reached for the knob. At the same time, he gave a sharp nod.

With a click, the door unlocked and opened all on its own.

As he stepped across the threshold, Aziraphale felt his shoulders relax.

Unlike in the Celestial City, here in his little shop Aziraphale was surrounded by the things that he loved. His beloved books, a collection that he had built up over the years, all gathered into one place. Not only that but here he didn’t have to worry about the gimlet stares of the others. He could relax, let down his guard, and just exist.

Walking past the front counter with its old-fashioned till he made his way to the large squashy armchair that sat tucked in an out of the way nook off to one side of the shop. Upholstered in a lovely and neutral plaid pattern, it was one of Aziraphale’s favorite spots to relax and enjoy his home.

And that was exactly what the angel did.

After taking a seat, he collapsed into its depths with a deep sigh.

Then, leaning forward and over to one side of the armchair, he was able to set his burden down in a fortuitously placed basket.

Finally, he leaned back and shut his eyes.

_Home,_ he thought as he let out a sigh of relief.

It was a moment of sheer perfection, one which finally allowed Aziraphale to accept the reality of his new situation.

He was now, for better or worse, a Father.

Aziraphale was just about to get up and start the process of rearranging his space to account for his new charge when the bell on the front door gave a sharp ding.

A moment later, a familiar figure appeared, barreling around the corner that hid Aziraphale’s nook from the view of the door.

When he caught sight of Aziraphale’s plump form, relaxed and cozy in the armchair, the demon Crowley’s posture underwent an immediate transformation.

It went from being sharp and tight, ready for battle, to a relaxed slump.

“Angel,” he breathed, “you’re back.”

“What do you mean, I’m back. I haven’t been gone that…” Aziraphale began before the reality of the situation caught up with him.

He had almost forgotten the delay in his return.

Time passed so rapidly up in the Heavenly City, especially when one was not inside of a normal corporation.

Crowley sputtered. “Not gone that…!” he shrieked; his voice raised. But then he reclaimed control. “Aziraphale, darling, it has been nearly six weeks since we last spoke. I thought that, perhaps…” 

Like the angel before him, here the demon’s voice trailed off, but Aziraphale understood what Crowley had left unspoken.

“Do not fear, my dear,” he said with a smile. “I just had a bit of an accident while on assignment, had to replace the old corporation.”

Aziraphale patted his covered stomach.

Then he leaned forward and climbed out of his seat, shaking off the last bit of rain that lingered on his coat as he did so.

“What sort of assignment did you get, that your corporation got destroyed?” Crowley asked, preemptively outraged on the other’s behalf.

“Settle down, my lionheart,” Aziraphale replied, amused by Crowley’s posturing. Still, it was a comfort to see the other’s protective instincts becoming engaged. “The fault was mine, and not an anticipated consequence of the mission. I accidentally overpowered the protection placed on a young Nephil descendent and got hit by a rebounded curse as a result. You know how unpredictable their gifts can be, especially when they interact with the Divine or the Profane.[2]”

“Still,” Crowley grumbled, subsiding. “I know how much you dislike changing corporations, Angel. Besides, I hate the Heavenly stench of one of your side’s fresh corporations. It gets simply everywhere and takes forever to wear down to ignorable levels.”

Before he could say anything else, a quiet mewl distracted both Angel and the Demon from their conversation.

It seemed that the child had finally woken up.

Leaving the bundle of damp blankets that he had previously been swaddled in inside of the basket, Aziraphale lifted the child up, tucking him carefully into the cradle of the angel’s arms.

Little Harry, still in the process of waking, burrowed his face in the angel’s shoulder.

Clearly, he was either more aware of what had happened with his Aunt than most normal toddlers, or he had mistaken Aziraphale’s form for one that belonged to a more familiar comforter.

“Angel?” Crowley asked, confused, “why are you holding a human toddler?”

Aziraphale flushed in embarrassment.

“I’m afraid that is the other consequence of my recent mission,” he replied.

“You mentioned protection, earlier,” Crowley said, his rising eyebrows visible over the rim of his dark glasses, “so what is it then, some sort of ‘Guardian Angel’ deal? I seem to recall you being quite fond of those things.”

Aziraphale’s flashed his friend a wry smile.

“Not exactly,” he admitted. “No, I’m afraid that we’re going to have to make some adjustments to ‘the Arrangement’, for a few years at least.”

It seemed that Crowley had finally caught on, as his mouth dropped open with a thud.

“Angel,” he said slowly, “did you… procreate…?”

Aziraphale hid his shudder at the thought.

_Urgh. As if I would willingly participate in such a messy business. Besides, making Nephilim is expressly forbidden, has been ever since the days of the Flood._

“Your thoughts run away with you, darling,” he replied instead. “The boy is mine, but… not in that way. No, I’ve merely been charged with his raising.”

“Merely…”

“Yes, well, his Aunt insisted…”

Crowley ran his hand across his face with a sigh.

“Oh, Angel,” he said, shaking his head, “only you…”

Then he shook himself, visibly setting aside his shock at the situation much more quickly than Aziraphale himself had managed.

“Well then,” he said briskly, “perhaps you might introduce me to your new charge.”

Aziraphale smiled. Shifting the boy onto his hip, he urged him to look up at the demon.

“Crowley,” he said, “allow me to introduce you to Harry Potter.”

The child finally removed his face from Aziraphale’s jacket, and, reluctantly, looked towards the new stranger.

“What in the Hell,” Crowley said as he caught sight of the boy’s forehead. “Angel, why does that child have a piece of a Damned Soul attached to him?”

“What?!?”

Aziraphale glanced down at his charge.

Now that he was looking for it, he managed to catch what Crowley, as a demon, had noticed instantly.

“Oh, dear,” he said.

Lifting the child up off his hip, he walked over and sat him down on the bookshop counter nearby. The height gave him a perfect vantage for an examination of his charge’s injury.

The child, it seemed, did not like the change, for he let out a little whimper of dismay at the loss of Aziraphale’s warmth.

“There, there darling,” Aziraphale soothed, maintaining his grip on the child’s torso. “I just need to take a better look at you.”

Crowley strolled over to his companion’s side, and together the angel and demon examined the boy’s inflamed skull.

Sure enough, as Crowley had mentioned, there was a piece of soul embedded in the scar. Furthermore, Aziraphale recognized the source of that nasty essence. It belonged to the Dark Wizard who had attacked his charge, the one who had supposedly been killed by the curse rebound right before Aziraphale’s discorporation.

“Nasty bugger, that one,” Crowley commented. “That level of damnation is rare, especially given that it is in such a small fraction of the overall soul. Less than one percent, and yet potent enough to stand out at a glance.”

“Quite,” Aziraphale agreed. “Belongs to the Dark Wizard that the child was prophesied to defeat.”

Turning to Crowley, he added, “that was how the mission started, you see. Little Harry’s mother prayed for help, and the prayer caught Gabriel’s attention.”

“A bit unusual for him, isn’t it?” Crowley asked. “He doesn’t normally bother with the ‘mud monkeys’.” The air quotes that the demon had placed around Gabriel’s favorite term for humanity were clearly audible.

Aziraphale sighed.

“Not when there is a prophecy involved,” he explained.

“Oh right, ‘Messenger of God’, and all that,” Crowley sneered.

The archangel was one of the demon’s least favorite beings, and that was saying something, given the nastiness that he was forced to put up with Downstairs.

“Exactly,” Aziraphale agreed. “Now then, what shall we do about that nasty bit of darkness, hey?”

Reaching out a hand, he summoned a vial of holy water from his upstairs apartment. The clear glass bottle appeared in a flash, making little Harry clap in delight. To the child, the Miracle looked like his parents’ magic.

“Stand back for a moment, dearest,” he said to Crowley. “I would hate for any of this to land on you.”

Immediately, the demon took one large step back, his eyes wide. That was one substance that he truly feared, given what it could do to him, both corporation and essence alike.

After unstoppering the vial, Aziraphale poured the full amount of holy water that it contained out onto a clean handkerchief that he had pulled from his vest pocket. Then, carefully supporting Harry’s head with his palm, he wiped the dampened fabric across the boy’s face. As he did so, he took care to push the holy water deep into the cracks and crevices of his scar, wincing as the pressure against his infected forehead drew a pained protest from the boy.

But then a high-pitched wail sounded, its screams lurking just beyond the range of human hearing, as a cloud of black smoke poured from the dampened scar. It dribbled out onto the handkerchief, forming into a puddle of what would have looked to mere human eyes like blood.[3]

Startled by the situation, not to mention the pain from the destruction of his parasite, Harry thrashed a bit and started to bawl. It was the loudest sound that Aziraphale had heard him manage to make.

Working swiftly, the angel balled up the contaminated fabric, and, shaking his hand, he vanished it into the ether. At the same time, he swept the weeping child back up into his arms.

“There, there, little one,” he said, as he rocked back and forth. “It’s alright. The bad thing is gone now.”

“Mummy,” the boy sniffled, “Daddy. Pa’foo. Mooey.”

At the sound of each name, Aziraphale winced. He didn’t know who the last two beings were, but he assumed that, like the boy’s parents, they were no longer present upon the Earth. Otherwise, little Harry would have been in their charge instead of being left with his disgruntled Aunt.

“I am sorry, dearest, but I am afraid that you are stuck with me.”

He continued to rock back and forth, as the child’s cries began to calm. It seemed that the boy had been startled and frightened but had not been badly hurt by this nasty affair.

“Check his forehead for me, would you,” he asked Crowley, who had remained quiet during the whole business. “I want to make sure that I got it all.”

Crowley stepped forward, his face serious. “Alright, angel,” he agreed.

Pulling his glasses down, he used his exposed serpentine eyes to carefully examine the still sluggishly bleeding scar.

“Sssseemsss fine,” he said with a bit of a hiss. His demonic traits always came out a bit more after such things.

Despite his upset, it seemed that the child had noticed Crowley’s unusual appearance. The little boy’s eyes grew wide in surprise.

But much to the shock of both angel and demon, the child was not upset by it.

Instead, he was excited.

“Snake!” he said, excitedly, letting out his own little hiss.

“That’s right, Harry dearest,” Aziraphale agreed, “Crowley does look a little like a snake, doesn’t he?”

He turned back to the demon with a bit of a grin, pleased by the child’s response.

But Crowley wasn’t smiling as he had expected.

Instead, he was staring at the boy, his complexion a bit pale in shock.

The pallor made his crimson locks stand out further, with a ruby gleam that came from the bookshop’s warm lights.

“Angel,” he hissed, “did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Once again Aziraphale was confused.

Crowley scowled.

“Right, I forgot you wouldn’t notice that. Angel, I’m afraid that your little charge is…” he hesitated for a moment, a blush spreading across his face.

“…is one of mine.”

“One of… oh, for Heaven’s sake.”

Now Aziraphale was the one blushing.

He knew that Crowley, unlike himself, had dabbled in ‘physical pleasures’, and he supposed that Nephilim were sometimes a consequence of such things.

Still, though…

“It must be some generations back,” Crowley continued, even as he hissed at the child. “I haven’t done such things in at least a century.”

After a moment, the child hissed back.

“See,” he added. “The talent for Parseltongue does rather give it away.”

Unexpectedly, the thought that his child was also, in some strange way, also Crowley’s brought a bit of warmth to the angel’s gut.

“Well then,” he said, “I suppose that gives you another reason to stop by.”

“Indeed, it does,” Crowley agreed, and they finally shared that smile that Aziraphale had been waiting for.

_Life was full of surprises,_ he mused, as he cuddled his new son. Below him, he could hear the continued hisses of conversation, as little Harry spoke with a fascinated Crowley in their shared tongue.

_Just when you think that there is nothing new under the sun, She throws you a curveball which upends your entire world._

* * *

[1] Not that it would have mattered in this case. The bookshop KNEW its owner and guardian and would have let him in even without a Miraculous key.

[2] See the sinking of Atlantis. Aziraphale was still bitter about that one, especially the loss of his favorite seafood restaurant.

[3] Of course, that was not what both Aziraphale and Crowley saw. Instead, they could see the corrupted material of the damned soul itself. But then, souls existed beyond the mortal plane, so it should come as no surprise that it required eyes that could see into the beyond as well to make it out.


	6. A Child of Prophecy

_Prophecy,_ Gabriel mused, _was not a gift that God Herself should have shared, especially not with such lowly beings as humanity._

It was one thing when She sent missives down to humanity directly via the angels – or rather Gabriel, himself, as the Messenger of God. Such missives were IMPORTANT, and relevant to the Great Plan. 

It was quite another when She chose to pass little hints about the humans’ internal business via their own people, those so-called Seers. Not only were their proclamations obscure and open to interpretation, likely the consequence of their puny brains being unable to comprehend the fullness of Her Word, but the attempts of the humans to follow or rebel against such things often interfered with Heaven’s responsibilities.

Just look at what had happened to poor, foolish Aziraphale.

He had just returned from a visit to the principality, and what he had seen had both shocked and appalled him.

It had not been for any specific reason that Gabriel had chosen to venture down to the unpleasant dust of the Middle Realm. Like all his fellow dust-bound agents, Aziraphale had been doing a satisfactory job at thwarting the Adversary, sending regular reports back up to be logged in the annals of Heaven. 

Despite that fact, however, Gabriel had had a niggling feeling that something had gone awry.

But it wasn’t until he finally reached Aziraphale’s oddly chosen dwelling that Gabriel realized what it was that he had sensed. That lingering feeling, the one which indicated the presence of an unfilled prophecy, had grown stronger as he had approached the place.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said as he stepped inside, forcing a polite smile across his corporation’s face[1] as the small bell that hung above his head let out a ringing chime.

He could see his subordinate from the entry where he stood, seated as he was behind a high counter with a large tome resting opened upon its surface. It was clear that the angel had been reading from its contents before Gabriel had arrived.

After slipping a pair of oddly-shaped, wire-framed spectacles off his face, Aziraphale glanced up with a distracted gaze.

“Gabriel!?” As the Earth-dwelling angel stared at his superior in surprise, the archangel found himself rearing back in shock.

What was Aziraphale doing down here that had left him positively gleaming with the indicators of human prophecy?

Unaware of what Gabriel was thinking, the contaminated principality continued to speak, “what are – that is – is there a mission from Upstairs, Archangel Gabriel?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Gabriel replied. “I simply thought that I would check in on you, Principality Aziraphale. It has been some time since your last visit to the Celestial City, has it not?”

“It depends on your understanding of time,” the other waffled, now clearly on the defensive, “even a near-decade is not a long time when one speaks of Celestial affairs. And besides, I have been absent for far longer without the privilege of a visit from Upstairs.”

“That is true,” Gabriel agreed. “But not during a time when the fulfillment of the Great Plan was nigh.”

“Oh,” the other replied, “I suppose not.” And then he asked, reluctance clearly audible in his voice. “Is it time for the Antichrist to appear then?”

“Not quite yet,” Gabriel admitted. There had been rumblings that the Adversary was searching for a suitable mistress with whom to create a Nephilim, but the same rumors also claimed that he had not yet made his selection.

The other sagged quite visibly in relief at Gabriel’s words, a disappointing sign, but before Gabriel could admonish his subordinate their conversation was interrupted.

From behind Gabriel, the door slammed open, causing the bell to shake and ring in a much more dramatic fashion than it had earlier.

“Dad, dad, you’ll never guess what happened at school today!”

A human child pushed past Gabriel’s legs, heading straight for the counter where Aziraphale sat.

While Gabriel was not a keen observer of such children, from the boy’s size he would guess that he was perhaps a decade or so in age, with pale skin and wild black hair that sprouted off in every direction. He was dressed neatly in some sort of uniform and carried a large bag, one which he proceeded to drop on his way behind the counter.

“Harry, my darling boy, what have I told you about running in the shop, especially when there are others present,” Aziraphale said, as he smiled down at the child, now hidden from Gabriel’s sight.

“Not to?” The boy said reluctantly.

“That’s right,” Aziraphale agreed. Then, with clear signs of his own feelings of reluctance, he led the little human back out from behind the counter where he had just darted. “Now then, what do you say to our guest?”

The boy, who was leaning against the angel’s leg, glanced up, meeting Gabriel’s eyes with his own startlingly green orbs.

“I’m sorry, mister,” he said quietly.

Once again, Gabriel had to force himself not to gasp. 

For surrounding this small child was the very same aura that had so struck him earlier, the glow of human prophecy. And, from the strength of that aura, this child was likely the source that had contaminated the other angel.

“Aziraphale,” he said tightly, “who-?”

The wayward principality’s back straightened as if the child’s very presence had granted him a level of certainty that Gabriel had never seen in his subordinate[2].

“Gabriel, allow me to introduce you to my Son, Harry Potter,” he said, calmly but firmly. “Harry, this is my boss, the Archangel Gabriel.”

“Really?” The boy exclaimed, looking up at his – Gabriel nearly choked at the thought – his father?! “The one that Auntie S says has a wand up his -?”

“Harry!” Aziraphale stopped the child before he could finish the sentence. “Up to your room, now. And believe me, we will be having words later,” he added firmly. The boy pouted but followed the other’s command, despite a clear reluctance to leave his ‘father’s side.

Once he was out of sight, Aziraphale’s posture shifted to its more familiar submissive form, but Gabriel couldn’t forget what he had seen. It seemed that his subordinate had made a horrifying decision. It seemed that he had found something that was more important to him than following the hierarchy of Heaven. 

“Who is that?” Gabriel asked, hoping that he had misheard the other’s earlier comments.

“As I said,” the angel repeated. “That is Harry Potter. My Son.”

The name did ring a minor chime in Gabriel’s brain.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” Aziraphale said, letting out a sigh. “Harry is the prophecy child who you charged me to watch over the last time you came to call. The one who is destined to defeat a Dark Lord?”

Finally, the halo dropped. Now Gabriel remembered.

“But,” he said. “Your report said that the prophecy was mostly fulfilled? And besides, is it not the responsibility of the other humans to see to his raising? We are Guardian Angels, at most, not permanent caretakers.”

Aziraphale sighed again. “I am afraid that it is not quite as simple as all that,” he replied. “It seems that what we had assumed was the fulfillment of a prophecy turned out to be its formal establishment. Something about that damned soul which Harry has been prophesied to defeat still lingers on this plane and the prophecy will not be fulfilled until that final obstacle has been removed.”

“And besides,” he added, “when I acted on the child’s behalf – on your orders I might add – I became an integral part of the prophecy. I know that you can See it, O Great Messenger of God Almighty.”

Gabriel let out a huff but had no choice but to agree.

The contamination in Aziraphale’s Presence was unmistakable.

“Oh, very well,” he said, “I suppose that as long as you continue to fulfill your primary assignment, to thwart the work of the Adversary, then taking on this extra duty will be allowed. But know this, Principality Aziraphale, no measly human prophecy can compare to the Great Plan. That must always take priority.”

“Yes, Sir,” Aziraphale agreed. “I understand.”

Gabriel had his doubts about the Principality’s sincerity. Still, he knew that the other’s stubborn determination was not entirely his fault.

_Even a human-proclaimed prophecy was a powerful thing, and if a prophecy declared that an Angelic Intervention was required, then the power of prophecy would make it so,_ he thought in disgust.

For that was what Gabriel believed[3]. 

Gabriel, the Messenger of God, had heard the echo of the Divine in Aziraphale’s words, enough to know that what he had claimed was the truth.

Human prophecy had – once again – interfered in Heaven’s affairs. And only time would tell how bad the damage would be.

So, after a nod of acknowledgment, Gabriel turned and walked out of the SoHo bookshop.

As he walked down the handful of steps and out onto the pavement, he paid no mind to the elegant black vehicle idling on the curb nearby. Nor did he notice the vehicle’s driver, glaring at him through the tempered glass. Instead, he moved rapidly past it, focused exclusively on the trip to the closest access point back Upstairs.

Of course, since Gabriel was merely the Messenger of God, and not God Herself, he once again failed to comprehend the fullness of the situation that he had just observed.

For while Aziraphale was indeed tied to the prophecy and the child, it would be more accurate to say that he had Chosen to do so. He had declared himself to be the boy’s Father, and a prophecy adapted itself to fit him in.

“Are you alright, Angel? I saw Gabriel through the window when we pulled up.”

The sound of Crowley’s voice disrupted Aziraphale’s contemplations of the conversation that he had just completed.

“What?... Oh, yes. I am fine. Merely lost in memory. It has been a wonderful time these past years, raising Harry, I mean.”

“Yes, it rather has,” Crowley agreed. Stepping up to the angel’s side, he placed his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Now then, what say I pour us a spot of tea, and you can let Harry tell you all about our little adventure at the Zoo.”

“That sounds simply… Perfect.”

And it was.

* * *

[1] Gabriel had never understood the purpose of a human smile. Why was it that the mud monkeys had decided that the baring of one’s teeth was a friendly gesture? It seemed counterintuitive. But then maybe that was the point. Humans were fond of such contradictory ideas.

[2] For Aziraphale had been an uncertain thing, even back before he had been assigned to guard the Eastern Gate of Eden, and his time amongst the humans had only made him worse. There was a reason why Gabriel had to be so harsh with him at times, as an archangel it was his responsibility to keep his brothers in line. They wouldn’t want to risk further Falls strengthening the Adversary’s side. 

[3] It should be noted that Gabriel’s belief was not based on any Word from God. Rather, it came from his own pride at being the Chosen Messenger of the Almighty. The greater the power that prophecy held, the more that he could hold his station over Michael and the others.

**Author's Note:**

> For this story, the artist requested that the Aziraphale/Crowley relationship not be sexual in nature, which fit well with my own preferred headcanons for those characters.  
> With that in mind, in this story, Aziraphale's gender identity could best be described as a sex-adverse asexual male while Crowley is genderfluid and demiromantic, with an ambivalent attitude about sex.  
> 


End file.
